


Welcome Back Aboard

by Illusion_Of_Sea_Axes



Series: Project Free-Rider [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusion_Of_Sea_Axes/pseuds/Illusion_Of_Sea_Axes
Summary: It has been years since Agent Washington has actually been 'Agent' Washington. It has been years since he's been in the field, seen another Freelancer agent face-to-face, and it has been years since he held a gun.Until the Director finally finds a use for him again.





	Welcome Back Aboard

It’s been several years since Washington’s crash, since he was declared Article 12, since he’d seen any other member of Project Freelancer. It’s been a year since the _Mother of Invention_ crashed. It has been years since Washington had held a gun.

And then, all in one day, those multi-year streaks are brought to an end. Washington is brought to face a screen with the Director in a room unlike the pale colors of his hospital room. It is metal. It reminds him of the _Mother of Invention_.

He feels hugely under-dressed in his hospital scrubs( he’s not even wearing real shoes for god’s sake), but he stands at attention as if he was still Agent Washington, with all the armor and weapons included. If he pretends enough, he can feel the phantom feeling of the skin tight kevlar.

“Washington, it is good to see you. I’ve been tracking your progress, recently, and I have come to a realization.”

_Traitor, liar, me, creator, betrayer,_ it all hums in a background chorus of Washington’s head. Some of it sounds like the Director himself. He’s gotten used to it now.

“You have been taken off medication, isn’t that right?”

“Yes sir.” Washington says, the words familiar but weird.

“I see. Well, this timing is convenient. Washington, while most consider the Project done with, I must assure you it is not.” Washington nodded. He had hoped, assumed, for some time while hospitalized that the Project was, that he would get to go back home to the family he hoped was waiting for him (although, half the time, he had a hard time recognizing who that family _was_ and whether they were alive anymore). “Project Freelancer gave its Agents many advantages over the battlefield. Do you remember that, Washington? The advantages we gave you?”

“Yes sir. You gave me armor, training, weapons… You gave me _The Columbia_.” The Director pauses, mouth pressed into a firm line, and for a moment Washington panics, before he continues.

“Yes, we did. And, unfortunately, others want to take those advantages. We wish to retrieve that equipment and keep it out of the wrong hands. Do you understand, Washington, the problem we are now faced with?”

“Yes sir, I understand it. May I ask why you’re telling me?”

“Washington, I wish to re-establish your title as Agent.”

Washington paused, licked his lips, stared up in surprise.

“You- You want to… re-establish me as an Agent of Project Freelancer, sir?”

“Yes, Washington, I do. But you would have a new designation, a new job, and it may be even more taxing than your previous role.”

“What new designation, sir?”

“You would go out in the field to retrieve stolen Freelancer equipment.” He plowed past Washington’s question. “Do you accept my offer, David?”

Washington winced at the use of his name, his real one. The Director apparently was expecting a negative response.

“Yes, sir. I accept your offer.”

“Welcome aboard, Recovery One. Now, before you are actually shown your first assignment-” he already had an assignment? “We need to have you cleared for duty. Please follow these two gentlemen.

Washington was guided out of the room by two armored soldiers who looked like darker versions of the other soldiers that used to populate the _Mother of Invention_. First, they took him to a medic space where he was looked over by a doctor, answered some questions to a simple emotional evaluation that somehow wasn’t simple at all.

“What would you do if you were to come across an AWOL agent, one that you were familiar with?” The doctor asked, pen tapping against her clipboard.

“Define familiar with?”

“A friend.” Carolina, York, North- _no_ , most of them were dead anyway.

“I would apprehend them, ma’am, if that is what my orders designated.”

“And if you cannot?” Washington swallows down the bile that rises at the mere thought of facing one of his friends -- _they left us, abandoned us!_ \- on the field, on the other side of the fight. 

“Incapacitate them.” She wrote down his answer.

“And what would you do if you disagreed with your given orders?”

“Obey them.”

“What if your orders would risk civilian life?”

“I would do my best. It is a reasonable risk, as long as there are ways to avoid it.” She wrote that down.

“Okay. If your orders asked you to terminate an AWOL agent, would you do it?”

“Yes.”

Washington has mastered his poker face somewhat over the years and today it comes into use. After a handful of other questions (“What would you do if you were injured on the field?”), the doctor put his answers into a computer and then spoke to a screen where the Director’s face appeared.

“He checks out, Director. Washington is fit for duty.”

_“Excellent. Welcome back, Agent.”_

That sends a jolt of unease into Washington’s stomach, but he nods, slightly smiles.

“Thank you, Director.”

Washington stepped off the exam table and followed the two soldiers (his guard detail?) out. They brought him into a room, allowed him to strip out of his hospital scrubs (it was awkward, but Washington couldn’t see their faces and forced himself to pretend they weren’t looking. He was a professional) and ushered him into a machine that fitted a new kevlar suit for him.

Washington left the room in the familiar military boots (they pinched, unbroken, but he _knew_ them) and a kevlar suit and Washington felt more like himself than he really had in _years_. They gave him some basic armor (not his power armor, he probably had to work up to that) and Washington relished the familiar (-ish) weight of it on his body.

They bring him to an armory (they trust him in an _armory_ ) where he was given a magnum and a basic assault rifle. He weighed the gun in his hands, staring down at it. It was different then the model he had once used, but still familiar enough.

They didn’t let him strip it, learn it, but that was okay with Washington because he had a _weapon_. It made him feel incredibly familiar.

Their next stop was another place, one that looks like a conference room without the chairs or any form of comfort.

And, standing on the other side of room, was Agent South Dakota.

Washington’s brain and body stalled at the door, eyes going big.

She was wearing her same power armor, light purple with the green accents, and her hair was cut shorter- but someone was _alive_. It wasn’t York, or North, but it spawned a bud of hope in Washington’s chest.

He hadn’t seen anyone from before, excluding the Counselor, but this is _South_. His memories of her, they’re _his-_ Epsilon didn’t know her, Epsilon never met her (not properly), memories of her are strictly _Washington’s_.

It triggers a sense of euphoria in Washington’s head, but it clearly doesn’t have the same affect on South. Her jaw drops, eyebrows rise, and he notes the new scar crossing over the old one are her cheek.

“Wash!?” Her voice cracks, volume rising.

“South… South, oh my god.” His voice shakes and Washington quickly recovers himself. “It… It’s good to see you.”

“You’re fucking alive... And they gave you a gun.” It seemed South had clearly heard about the whole article-12-deal.

“I’m cleared for duty, now. I’m Recovery One.”

“Well, I’m Recovery Two.”

She’s on Wash’s side- only not _really_ , not at all, he _knows_ things she doesn’t, he’s not on the Director’s side, not really- but that’s a technicality he doesn’t need to think about right now.

“Hello, Agents. Now that we’ve got you all prepared-” for now. “It is time for me to debrief you.”


End file.
